Left Out In The Cold
by heartbreak hotel
Summary: SLASH. Shawn Michaels/Bret Hart. Six months after Bret's stroke, Shawn travels to Calgary to try and set things right with his former lover.


Shawn Michaels drummed his fingers on the airline tray table as he waited for the plane to land. He'd waited six months from hearing about Bret Hart's stroke to go and see him. It had taken him all that time to summon the courage. He'd made excuses every day, telling himself Bret would never want to see him again. Now he was on the plane, though, he was nervous and questioning whether he had made the right decision. Bret hadn't contacted him since the Screwjob; what made him think that Bret would want to see him now?

_I have to go, though, don't I? I have to know what condition he's in, because even after everything I did, we were once lovers, and a piece of me still cares._

Shawn shifted in his seat, remembering their glory days. Memories that had been too painful to bring up for a long time came forward now. There had been good times, starting with a drunken confession of desire and slowly growing into something more then great sex and mutual respect. They had never used the word love, neither could swallow their pride enough to say it; but it was there. Matches they had fought, always giving the fans a good show, even more so as their relationship started to fall apart and they grew more competitive and combative with one another.

Shawn took a sip of water to ease his tightening throat. _Christ, I thought I was over this. I thought I was over him the day I put my career before Bret and screwed him over._

The seatbelt light came on and the plane started to descend. Shawn looked out of the window to see snow on the ground; a far cry from his native Texas. _I didn't even pack warm clothes. I'm going to freeze._

He was indeed cold as he stepped out of the airport terminal into the cold Calgary winter and hailed a cab. He stopped at his hotel and ditched his luggage, pacing the room.

_I should just go and get it over with, and go home. The waiting is just making it worse._

Shawn picked up the Post-it note with Bret's address on it, and called a cab. Soon he was standing on the sidewalk, contemplating the large house in front of him.

_It's now or never, Shawn, _he told himself. _C'mon, you've never backed away from a fight before..._

Shawn knocked on the door and waited. The minutes seemed like hours and he was shivering, the cold biting at him as if telling him to go away, that he did not belong in Calgary.

_Maybe he's not home, _Shawn thought. _Or he saw it was me and won't answer the door. Can't say I would blame him._

Just then, he heard noise inside and the door slowly swung open. Bret sat there in his wheelchair, and looked shocked when he saw who was standing in the doorway. Then his expression turned to hurt, and he went to slam the door. Shawn held it open.

"Did you come here to gloat?" Bret asked bitterly, every word seeming like a huge effort on his part, his voice slightly slurring the words. "You win, Michaels; my career is finished. Enjoy yours."

"No, Bret, you know I didn't come here for that." Shawn said, but the other words stuck in his throat. Pride rose up in his stomach and stubbornness refused to let him say he was sorry. _If Bret's still bitter, why should I apologize? He'll just throw it back in my face. Better to keep a little dignity and back away now._

They stood in a silent stalemate, neither one speaking or moving, both pushing on the door that Shawn kept open.

"Well?" Bret said. "Was there something you wanted to say, or are you going to get out?"

Shawn swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked at Bret. Bret looked terribly ill, bitter and sad, but he knew he could not pity him; the man had too much pride to ever want people to feel sorry for him. Shawn took a deep breath in and decided to say his piece; the plane ticket had not exactly come cheap, and he knew he needed to get it off his chest.

"Bret, I'm... I'm sorry. About what happened in Montreal." Shawn stuttered the words like a teenager asking for a date.

"You don't sound sorry," Bret said. "Get out, Shawn. I know you came here because you were curious how I was doing, but I'm fine without you. I don't need people in my life who have no honor, who spit on the dignity of the wrestling business for a little bit of fame."

Shawn let the door slip and it slammed in his face. He raised his hand to knock again but stopped himself. _I put my heart out there and he didn't give anything back. We're not going to get anywhere tonight; he's not ready to forgive me. Maybe he never will be. I should just go._

He went to call a taxi, but saw a light flicker on in the back of the house. Curious, and feeling he had nothing to lose, he scaled the railing fence and trudged through the snow to the back of the house. He hid in the shadows and peeked in the window.

Bret's nurse put him to bed and turned the main light off, leaving a bedside lamp on. Shawn simply stood and watched him, then noticed his body was shaking. He looked up and saw tears rolling down the man's face. _He's crying, _Shawn realized. He'd never seen that before, not even after Montreal. That had just been pure rage.

Shawn felt his stomach churn at the sight of Bret in so much pain. He imagined going in there and holding Bret until he fell asleep. It was a tenderness he'd never felt before, and he swallowed another lump in his throat. _I caused this pain. I did this. I never should have put the gold before Bret, but I did, and he hurts. I hope someday he can forgive me. I want that more than anything. Even if we're never lovers again. I just don't want him to hate me any more._

Looking in the window, he saw Bret had settled into sleep. He trudged away, scaling the fence and using his cellphone to call a taxi. As he got in, he took one last look at Bret's house.

_I''ll see you again someday, _Shawn thought. _Get well, and stay alive until then._


End file.
